Facing the enemy, p.7
Facing the Enemy, page 7
“Oh.” Sammy yawned and looked about with more interest. “There’s a cracking stream. I hope we have one in our garden.”
Elise eyed the swift current with new eyes. For a child of Sammy’s ilk, a white-water river would spell disaster. Perhaps she should teach him about water horses or kelpies, as some called the shape-shifting spirits of aquatic legend that appeared as a tame pony beside a river. Once a person climbed onto its back, its sticky magical hide would not allow them to dismount. Elise highly suspected parents had dreamed up those kelpies to keep their children from playing too close to the shore.
The driver’s door opened, letting in a gust of cool air. Harry climbed back behind the wheel. “That didn’t take too long, did it?”
“Not at all. How far is your rental?” Elise asked.
Harry typed the address into the satnav. “The cottage is fairly close to your family’s estate.”
“That’s handy.”
“We’ll set you down at the castle and be on our way.”
“You live in a castle?” Sammy piped up from the backseat.
“Aye.” Elise nodded.
“You said that like Thierry,” Sammy told her confidingly.
“I suppose it’s because we’re both Scots.”
“But you don’t sound much like one,” Sammy argued almost accusingly.
Harry laughed, the strong column of his throat bobbing his Adam’s apple. “Buckle up, Sammy. I assure you, Lady Elise is a Scot and lives in a castle.” He reversed out of the car park, and soon they were on the road to Torwoodlee Castle.
“I don’t have much of an accent because I’ve lived in London for ages,” Elise said, taking pity on the boy.
“Oh.”
Her response appeared to dampen Sammy’s interest.
The next five miles of twisting roads through verdant meadows and steep inclines were more reminiscent of the Peak District than the general rolling vistas of the Scottish Borders. Elise pressed her key fob when they arrived at the castle gates, and the electronic fencing, bearing the Roxbury crest, trundled open to admit the car.
Manicured lawns stretched on both sides of the drive as they meandered through parkland covered with wild cherry, silver birch, and rowan. Here and there, the blue-gray of the Gala Water wound through the trees, then emptied into a large freshwater loch.
One last turn, and the castle stood directly ahead.
“You really do live in a castle.” Sammy bounced in the back seat, his voice filled with awe.
“I live in London. My family lives here,” Elise corrected. Her father’s estate had not been her home for almost a decade.
“Does it have a ghost?”
“Sadly, no ghosts walk the halls of Torwoodlee Castle.” Her great-grandfather, the sixth Marquess of Roxbury, had commissioned the castle’s construction after a fire had destroyed the manor house during Queen Victoria’s reign.
“Can I fish in the lake?” Sammy asked, his attention pinging to the blue loch.
“We call them lochs in Scotland.” Elise overemphasized the guttural sound at the back of her throat. “Best remember that or Mr. Armstrong is liable to give you a scold.”
“Who’s Mr. Armstrong?” Sammy leaned against the glass, his eyes on the loch.
“He’s the groundskeeper, but I’m sure the ghillie will be happy to provide you with rods and show you all the best places to fish. He’s a friendly sort.”
“What’s a ghillie, and why is no one fishing?”
“A ghillie is a fishing expert. He can show you all the best places in the local rivers and lochs. But no one’s fishing today because it’s the Sabbath,” Elise said.
“So?”
“In Scotland, the Sabbath is observed. People generally attend church, the shops are closed, and parking is free.”
Sammy twisted his head toward Harry. “Why don’t we go to church, Dad?”
“Doesn’t Gran take you?” Harry asked, appearing a wee bit surprised.
“Not for ages. I don’t think she likes the reverend, Mr. Brown.”
Harry glanced briefly at his son before he stopped beside the castle’s front steps. “I’ll take you while we’re in Scotland.” He scanned the front elevation. “The place looks just the way I remember. Didn’t I park my motorbike here as well?”
Elise flushed bright pink—the curse of all redheads. She’d had high hopes that Harry’s memory of that dreadful night had faded.
“You’ve been here before?” Sammy asked.
“Once upon a time, I spent a noteworthy evening here with a beautiful lady.”
“With Mummy?” Sammy blinked owlishly at his father.
“That was before I met your mother. This lady was the proverbial one who got away.” Harry winked at Elise, then climbed out of the car and collected her luggage from the boot.
Grateful for the few extra seconds to collect herself, Elise fumbled with the door lever and let herself out. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, Sammy. One of the staff will act in the place of your childminder until your father gets a nanny sorted.”
Sammy made a face. “I don’t need a nanny. I’m not a baby. I’m in primary school.”
“Up here, you’re still considered a ‘wee bairn,’” Elise informed him.
Sammy didn’t respond to that.
Gravel crunched, and Harry placed her suitcase on the bottom of the stairs, then turned to give her an impertinent bow. “My lady.”
“Don’t you start,” she grumbled.
Harry flashed her a grin filled with all the old devilment she remembered from their university days. She opened her mouth to say something smart, but her father’s butler, McFarlane, a very proper man in a three-piece suit, opened the massive front door and came down the castle steps.
“McFarlane, how nice to see you again. Could you manage my luggage?”
The butler nodded. “Aye, indeed. Might I say what a pleasure it is to have you home, Lady Elise?”
“Thank you. How is Mrs. McFarlane? Is the hip still bothering her?” Elise inquired.
“She had it replaced January last and is getting about much better now. Thank you for asking.”
“Now that your luggage is sorted, we’d best be off.” Harry rounded the bonnet and looked at her over the top of the car. “I’ll see you at half seven?”
“Aye. Make sure Sammy brings his wellies and raincoat.”
Harry hopped inside the Fiesta, and without a backward wave, started the car and took off down the lane.
Elise turned back to McFarlane and forced a smile to cover the awkward gaffe in Harry’s manners. The butler lifted her luggage and started up the wide, sweeping steps.
Placing her hand on the rail, Elise followed, her boots echoing hollowly on the stone beneath her feet. As she approached the door, her stomach roiled, and she steeled herself as her two worlds were about to collide.
Chapter 9
Morning sunshine streamed through the breakfast room’s tall casement windows. After a careful survey of the chafing dishes on the oak sideboard, Elise helped herself to a bowl of fruit and a scoop of yogurt. She took her accustomed seat just as several goldfinches landed on the holly bush outside the window, their bright red faces and yellow wing patches vibrant against the dark-green foliage.
The anniversary clock on the mantel ticked away the minutes, the only sound in the quiet room. Elise sighed. She missed London’s traffic, the hustle and bustle outside her flat, and the constant movement of people going places.
Compared to London and other cities across Europe, life in the Scottish Borders progressed at a crawl. Elise had no idea how she would survive the ensuing weeks without the excitement of her job to ease the boredom.
After placing her napkin on her lap, she stirred her tea. For the next few weeks, she had every intention of sticking to a strict exercise routine. It was imperative that she pass her tests when she came off medical leave. Six weeks—that’s all she had. It was going to be tight.
Elise glanced at her watch, then eyed the window seat with longing. If Sammy hadn’t been due in a half hour, she was more than a wee bit tempted to toss her plans sky high and curl up on the cushion like a contented cat and doze away her morning.
She scooped up a bite of yogurt. A clatter came from the corridor. Elise paused, her spoon lifted halfway to her lips as her mother, Lady Roxbury, a short, impeccably groomed woman with a sweet countenance, entered with a hint of Chanel floating in her wake.
Her mother’s soft blue eyes lit when they landed on Elise. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad to see you up. I wanted a word with you before your father and I leave for London.” She came around the table and kissed Elise’s cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry to abandon you just after you’ve arrived. We’ll have a cozy chat when Daddy and I get back, shall we?”
Elise tensed. “Cozy chat” was Mother’s code word for one of her infamous matchmaking schemes.
“I’d really rather not.” Elise pushed her bowl of yogurt away, suddenly not hungry.
“You aren’t getting any younger, Elise. You really ought to consider settling down and starting a family of your own.”
The shaft struck home, much deeper than her mother could have intended. Elise’s eyes stung, and she inhaled shakily, her hands fisting in her lap. Just this morning, before she had come downstairs, Elise had scheduled an appointment with a famed London specialist, in the hope her agency doctor had gotten it all wrong.
Unaware of the lethal blow she had delivered, her mother turned to the sideboard and helped herself to a bowl of porridge before she took her seat across the table from Elise.
“I’ve taken the liberty of calling Lady Amelia. She thinks Debenham might do. He’s sporty like you and . . .”
Elise ground her molars and kept her eyes on her plate. Mother meant well, but she liked to see everyone in couples, perpetuating more dysfunctional families the world over. Normally, her mother’s constant pairings simply annoyed Elise, but after her weekend at Jack’s, her arms ached for a child of her own.
Elise’s father, the Marquess of Roxbury, joined them, a newspaper under one arm. Selecting a plate, he piled it high with ham, tomatoes, eggs, and a dash of fruit—to pacify her mother. Setting his heaping dish on the table, he poured himself a piping-hot cup of tea.
“Good morning, Elise.” Her father took his place at the head of the small oval table and unfolded his newspaper.
“Morning, Dad.”
Her father’s morning routine never altered. For as long as Elise could remember, no one interrupted his ritual—the reading of the paper—before they included him in idle chitchat. To keep him abreast of the latest news, Elise had downloaded several apps on his mobile over the holidays. But he had stubbornly resisted moving into the digital age.
Elise smirked at her mother across the table while they waited for him to get his “fix.” It didn’t take long. Her father only read two sections: headline news and sports. When Dad finished, he passed the society pages to her mother.
“Thank you, darling.” Mother browsed the latest gossip. “Hmm. Lady Ogilvie’s giving a party. Did we receive an invitation?”
“I hope not.” Roxbury winked at Elise, then polished off his eggs.
Elise ducked her head and bit back a laugh.
Mother glanced up, her blue eyes huge. “Whyever not? They’re having a charity auction for the Children’s Leukemia Foundation.”
“Can’t we donate without attending?” her father asked.
Mother’s mouth dented at the corners, and she set down the thin society section beside her teacup and saucer. “Of course not, and you know it.”
“Unfortunately, I do.” Her father made a face.
“You’d best finish your tea, darling. We’ve a flight to catch.”
Dutifully, her father picked up his teacup and took a sip, while his pale-blue eyes probed Elise over the gilded rim.
For the last few minutes, Elise had surreptitiously attempted to read the upside-down headlines on her father’s paper.
Seeing her arched neck, he handed it to her with a flourish. “I doubt it will be as up-to-date as your digital apps, but you’re welcome to read it just the same.”
“Touché, Dad?” Elise smirked.
Her father chuckled and placed his cup back on its saucer. “Couldn’t resist after the fuss you made at Christmas.”
“I definitely deserved that.” Elise smoothed out the paper.
“Has Sophie been down yet?” her mother asked, referring to Elise’s next oldest sister.
“Been and gone,” Elise said absently, frowning at the national headlines.
Meth deaths in Camden on the rise.
Parkwide search continues. Six girl guides and their leader, Lucy Jones-Newton, went missing Tuesday. They were last seen hiking the Minor’s Track in Snowdonia National Park.
“Sophie works too hard.” Mother added cream and sugar to her tea.
“Where’s Cairstine this morning? She’s not one to lie abed,” Dad said with a glance at his youngest daughter’s empty chair.
“Don’t wake her, darling. She got in frightfully late from Ahern’s party.”
Elise glanced up from the newspaper. She couldn’t be hearing her mother correctly. “How did Cairstine meet Ahern? I thought he and Sophie—”
“Sophie introduced them over the holidays,” her mother said airily, then took another sip of tea.
“Did Sophie go to the party last night?” Unease niggled inside Elise on Sophie’s behalf.
“She was worried about one of the mares going into labor and stayed home.” Mother turned to Dad. “Roxbury, is it all right if we drop by the stables to say goodbye to her? She was awfully quiet last night. I think she might be sickening.”
Dad didn’t look up. He was busy checking his mobile.
“Roxbury?”
“What?” Her father lifted his head, his expression covered with guilt.
Elise peeked at his mobile screen to see what had brought that on. Word Search? She fought back a snicker.
“I asked if we could stop by the stables to say goodbye to Sophie.” Her mother huffed. “We didn’t see her last night.”
Her father checked his watch and rose from the table. “I think not, Janet. It will be tight as is. Sorry to rush off like this, lass,” he said to Elise and rounded the table to kiss her cheek.
“Think nothing of it. I’ll be here when you return.” Where else could she go?
The colonel’s aide escorted Harry inside the low-roofed building on Glenkinnon Base.
Two steps inside the interior and frigid air enveloped him. Harry braced himself. The white, cinderblock structure was positively arctic.
“This way, Captain Benson.” The young soldier in his camouflage Multi-Terrain Patterned (MTP) uniform led Harry to a desk not far from a door marked Colonel Kurtis Horwith.
“This will be your work station, Captain Benson.”
No cubicle. No office. Just a scarred desk with a missing leg upheld by a stack of boxes. Harry’s mouth twitched, and he fought to keep from laughing at the royal welcome the base had laid out for him.
Thankfully, not much desk time existed at a duty station like this. The bulk of his assignment consisted mainly of overseeing his men’s training exercises and managing the armory.
“Colonel Horwith is on a conference call and will be with you momentarily.” The aide made a smart turn and departed.
Interesting reception. Obviously, his arrival had not sat well with the colonel’s staff.
A burst of male laughter escaped from behind the colonel’s closed door. Harry waited a few more minutes, but the colonel didn’t venture out. Zipping up his jacket, Harry shoved his hands inside the pockets and hunted for the maintenance room to check out a space heater.
Locating a cupboard marked custodial closet, he dug through the shelves but came up empty. He returned to his desk and sat, the chair tipping too far back for his tall frame. Obviously, his desk and chair had been downgraded with other staff members before his arrival. Harry made a list of items on his mobile that he needed to survive his workstation: drill, screws, post, hand saw, and heater.
He rubbed his hands together, the friction warming his skin, then moved the heater to the top of his list.
The colonel’s door burst open. Two sergeants left after a quick salute to Harry. A tall, spare man with thinning hair occupied the doorway and assessed him.
Harry jumped to attention. “Captain Benson reporting for duty, sir.”
“Captain Benson, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Good. Come in.” The colonel motioned with a tilt of the head toward his office.
Harry tucked his hat under his arm and followed the colonel inside. Several stacks of paper lay piled on the colonel’s desk. Across the room, an aerodynamic road bicycle hung on a special rack.
“Do you bike?” Horwith asked.
“Just for leisure. That looks serious.” Harry nodded at the bicycle.
“This little gem is made of carbon fibers to specifically fit my body and give me the most efficient performance. I had custom tubes and forks added that have a narrow profile to cut the wind and, hopefully, my time in next month’s race. You’re welcome to join me on my daily rides; there’s a group of us on base who belong to the local racing club.”
“Sorry, I left my bike at home.”
“A shame that,” the colonel said, giving his bicycle one last glance.
Colonel Horwith didn’t inquire about Harry’s last duty station or his time in the Middle East. Most peculiar. All Harry’s former commanding officers had gone over his credentials, drilling him for details. From what Harry gathered, Colonel Horwith had only one love, and that was bicycle racing. Over the next few days, the lax protocol on base puzzled Harry, until he stumbled across the reason: Glenkinnon was a sunset tour, meaning senior officers stationed here did not advance in rank. Because of that, the rigid discipline so prevalent on other bases had slackened.
